"Wait, whoa, hold up." Dean says, voice getting more gravelly as his frown groans.

He looks up to you from across the little round table on the motel room you two are sharing for the night. His green eyed gaze looks conflicted.

"You're telling me your dad used to beat you up every night when you were a teenager?" He questions. A pause, and then he frowns more. "Why didn't you tell me back then?"